


Her Death in Paradise

by sweepeaspatch



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 02:51:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14095500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweepeaspatch/pseuds/sweepeaspatch
Summary: It's one year after his death.  Camille isn't handling it well.  She and Dwayne enter the Twilight Zone with Richard's help.





	Her Death in Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Why did no one mourn for him?  
> My only brush with reality.  
> Formerly posted on FanFiction, moved here, cleaned up a bit.

**Her Death in paradise**  
Part 1 – it is enough

He was dead and she is dying.

Everyone pretends not to notice but the sham of ‘compassionate leave’ no longer fools anyone. She is a shadow of her former self. She isn’t eating. She isn’t sleeping. It is a horrific reversal of those long-ago first flushes of romance that had thrilled her sleep and brightened her days.

She had been so hopeful. Every day was another chance at love. Every night held dreams of possibilities. She had been sure they were moving closer… any day now… any day…

Then the final day. The last day. The absolute negation of his life… and hers. Even in death, he was handsome. She could almost believe he was gently asleep but for the blood and his cold cold flesh. She had laid her head for the first and last time on his chest, listened to the great silence there, and known that her life was done. She had been led away, stunned into a matching silence, and the sham had begun.

He wasn’t even on the island any more. How is that possible?

She is never going to recover because… three months… six months… it didn’t matter. She couldn’t bear to even look at the building where they had worked side by side for 2 years, much less walk into that room and see his desk, the white board, his mug, hear echoes of his voice.

She had slipped away that first sunset-without-him and run to his beach, dashing into his home, hearing his step just around the corner, just out of sight. Frantically she had searched for him. She could smell him. She could see the evidence all around her of a life interrupted; his clothes, his cup on the kitchen counter, bath towel carefully hung, books lined up just so. Where was he? Why couldn’t she find him? When she had come back to herself, she was curled up on his bed, clutching his pillow, gasping, wrung out and exhausted.

She erased all signs of her trespass. She would never share that bed now. Never know his secrets. Never be one with his heart… his punctured torn heart convulsing around a cruel length of steel. Did he think of her as the light faded? Did he bitterly regret every wasted moment that they might have shared? Did he go into the dark alone and afraid? It tortured her to think about it.

She’d asked for and received his books, brought them home and lined them up in exactly the same order. She’d begun to read, day and night, voraciously, as if she could read him back into existence. The day she found the flower, she almost lost her mind. It was pressed in a folded slip of parchment, small and dry and insignificant. Except. She remembered the day she’d tucked it behind his ear, grinning, teasing… always teasing. “It suits you,” she’d laughed. Self-consciously but with good grace, he’d removed it and slipped it between the pages of his current read. But not this book. He hadn’t been reading this book. He’d kept it. Moved it. Used it. Renewed despair at his loss had roared through her like a gutting wind. She had snatched up a cushion, crushed it to her face and cried his name over and over until she greyed out.

When she came to, she had a thumping headache, no voice, and a plan.

It was easy. She stole the icepick. It was the last thing to touch his living flesh. It should have been her, but no, it had been a cold piece of steel and it is hers now. Her theft would be discovered but not in time.

The hardest lie was to her Maman who cried bitter tears in the night for her lost child and the man she still sought.

Everyone was kind. Everyone tried so hard. No one knew how far into the black she had gone. It is peaceful there. Quiet. Silent. In her secret heart of hearts she fearfully hopes to find him there. If not, negation is better than this living hell.

On the anniversary of his death, she dresses carefully in the same clothes from the last night she could have been his love, the last chance she’d had to tell him, that last desperate squandered night.

She walks slowly to his beach, sits to watch the sun go down, wishing with all her soul that she had died with him. This pain would have never existed.

Drawing out the ice pick, she turns it this way and that, watching the last gleams of sunlight glint along its length. It is warm from her body heat. _It’s only a tool,_ she thinks... _and tools are made to be used. Can a blade be hungry? Can it seek life?_ She presses it to her cheek, letting her tears wash it.

As the sun dips below the horizon, she looks at the sky, the sea, the trees. So peaceful. It really is paradise but she is done with it. Enough.

Wading out into the sea, she puts the blade to her chest, right over her heart, in the exact same spot it had touched him 1 year ago. She clasps the handle with both hands, closes her eyes, and prays for forgiveness.

A cool hand touches the back of her neck.  
END part 1

Part 2 – this can’t be happening

Two weeks later and Camille is still in shock.

This can’t be happening.

It happens all the time now with increasing frequency. Cool touches on her hand, the small of her back, brushing against her hair. One night she had awakened with a cry and a hand to her lips. At first it had happened only when she was alone but now it happens in the market place, at La Kaz, on the street. She is sure the touch had warned her about the car that had swerved drunkenly around the corner, missing her by inches.

Now she finds herself listening carefully, oh, so carefully for the barest hint of his voice. Questing the air, seeking his scent. She can’t believe what she believes.

That night on the beach, she’d been a mere moment away from committing her body to the sea. The touch had woken her. She’d buried the ice pick in the sand and walked home. Over the next few days, Catherine had watched her daughter return from the dead. Both women returned to church but for different reasons; Catherine to give thanks, Camille to question. The priests had tried to help but could only advise to ‘ _wait, watch, pray, and listen for the still small voice in the silence’._

She is blissfully happy to do so. He is still here, somehow. Why has it taken him so long to return? Was it her desperate action that has called him? Did he have to find his way through another world? Did they have transportation means on the other side? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. He is here now and he has something to tell her… something ELSE to tell her. The gentle caresses in the night spoke volumes. He had known.

She is waiting. She will abide and trust and have faith. This is Richard, after all. Love, honour, and obey. Her task will be revealed in time.

It is another 2 weeks before she gets a hint of what it might be.

She sees Dwayne in the market. He is stiff and still, scanning the crowds, a familiar look on his face. When she came up behind him and touched his forearm, he jerked and spun to face her, eyes staring. She recognizes the look now. It is the face she’d seen in her mirror after returning from the beach.

Dwayne is being haunted.  
END part 2

Part 3 – a burden shared

Dwayne stiffens even more when he sees it is Camille who has touched him. Swallowing dryly, he croaks, “Camille! Lord, you gave me a fright! How are you, girl? We were all pretty worried about you. Your Mama thought you were planning somethin’ bad. Better now?”

She has to smile. He is bluff and chatty but she notes the pale skin, the drawn circles under his eyes, the nervous movements. She takes his hand, “Do you feel him too?”

Dwayne steps away, pulls his hand free, “Him? Him who? You trippin’, girl?”

She gives him a level look. He tries to stare her down. They both shiver at the cool touch on the backs of their necks, “Ah, no! Make it stop! Alla time now… make him stop!”

She leads him to a small bistro with a quiet corner and they talk. It is as she suspected. Dwayne is experiencing the same phenomenon and slowly losing his mind in the process. He is VERY relieved to hear that Camille is also feeling it but then he gets spooked all over again by the very idea.

“Why just you and me? I’ve hinted around with Fidel and everyone else I could think of. Nothin’. The Commissioner gave me a strange look and a pat on the hand. I’m lucky he didn’t ‘section 8’ me!”

“I don’t know, Dwayne. How would Richard have handled this puzzle?”

“Easy! That man had a mind like a steel trap! He would have run an advert in the island paper solicitin’ information about ‘incidents of a strange and unsettling nature’ or somethin’. Not much got by him.”

Sadly, Camille murmurs, “Except…”

“Er, yes, but who woulda thought…?”

Rallying, she changes the subject, “So, how is the new man doing?”

“He’s OK. Probably goin’ to stay. His wife left him and he’s adopted us all. He’s a good DI, in his way.”

“Is that what you call him? The DI? Don’t you call him…?”

Dwayne’s head shoots up, his mouth a grim line, “NEVER! No. Never. There was only one Chief.”

They mourn in unison, “I really miss him. He was the best boss I ever had. I don’ think I’m long for this place anymore. It just isn’t the same. He’s everywhere and nowhere. Look, I made up this little pin for his next birthday but…” Dwayne flips his uniform lapel to show her a small “Sherlock Poole” pin tucked safely away. “I wear it all the time now. To remember.”

“That is so sweet.” Camille lays her hand over Dwayne’s. Their smiles fade a bit when a third touch lays over theirs. The cool sensation lasts much longer this time.

Camille looks down at their hands until they are just two hands again. “I think he means us to do something together, just we two. No one else is involved. But what? How do we find out? Is there any way we can speak to him?” She studies Dwayne’s anxious face, “Dwayne, can… can the Loa…?”

He grows thoughtful, “Well, now. I hadn’t thought about that. He wasn’t of the island… he wasn’t of the blood… but he’s definitely still here so somethin’ is going on. I’ll make inquiries.”

They part, not feeling so alone and isolated anymore. A burden shared is a burden halved.  
END part 3

Part 4 – their task

When next Camille sees Dwayne, he is a changed man.

He came to her house several days after their conversation in the bistro. He’d gone to find answers about their strange mutual haunting. Now he is sitting on the edge of her sofa, looking at her with frightened eyes. Dwayne? Frightened?? This isn’t good.

“Dwayne, talk to me! What happened??”

“Oh, Camille, I can’t hardly find the words to tell you. Come, sit by me. This is going to be hard hard.” She sits fearfully at his side. For a moment, he smells like Richard then it is gone. He takes her hands, rubs them thoughtfully, then speaks in a low voice.

“Some people I talked to, they knew somethin’ was abroad, something strange. Some said it was searchin’. Some said it was hungry. I don’t like the sound of that. You don’t sense anythin’ dangerous in all this, do you?”

She shakes her head, “No, but I sense an urgency. What do you think it is?”

“I finally spoke to an old woman. She said she had a dream about me.”

“You?! Does she know you?”

“No. We never met but in her dream I was standin’ in front of the ‘green-eyed man’.”

Camille starts, “She said that? The ‘green-eyed man’? Did she know Richard?” She begins to cry.

“No. But, girl, this is where it gets difficult. She said I was standin’ in front of this man because he could not do somethin’ that needed doin’. He needs help. It’s somethin’ that he never got to do in this life and he won’t leave until it gets done.”

Clutching his hands, Camille implores him, “Help him how, Dwayne?! Tell me, please!”

“Ah, Camille. First let me tell you that the Loa were very fond of Richard. He was a defender of the people. He is not forgotten. They will help him… and me.”

“You?”

He carefully folds her hands together and puts them back into her lap. He takes a deep breath and will not meet her eyes, “A child. There’s to be a child.”

She looks at him in stunned disbelief, shaking her head.  
END part 4

Part 5 – it is done

Dwayne holds her for a long time before her hysterical crying tapers off to weary sobs. He pats her back and waits. Finally, when she can listen again, he asks her one question then tells her what she must do.

Three people will come; the old woman, her assistant, and Dwayne. Camille will be readied in the old ways, made receptive by the Loa for the Other, the green-eyed man not of the island but still part of the island. There are rituals and anointments, offerings and wine. The Loa will ready the way and the Other will come through. Into Dwayne. Into Camille. Dwayne tries to make her understand that he will not actually be there once the Other comes.

After Dwayne leaves, her night is spent raging. It is impossible. She won’t do it. Better to carry out her initial plan than to suffer for one more day… but then he came to her in her exhausted sleep. He sat at the foot of her bed, a nimbus of faint light outlining his form, watching her with sad eyes. She tries to reason with him, to plead, bargain, rant, refuse, only to falter under that steady gaze. Finally, he laid a hand over his heart then on her belly. She felt the cool touch go deep and start to burn. She reached out for him but he was smoke and memory and gone. The warm glow followed her into slumber and she woke up knowing that it would happen just as she had been told.

She knew the night it would happen. The day before her courses begin, the visitors come. She is prepared, given something to drink, and lay on her bed drowsy and lightly tethered to her body. Candles gutter and incense is offered up. When the shadows flare up dancing, a man comes to her. It smells like him. It feels like him. She wants it to be him so badly. The night is a confused jumble but during it all she has the serene sense that he is finally with her, body and soul. She falls asleep believing in her heart that he is her beloved at last.

She awoke to early dawn glow in the east and a slow pulse in her body.

She leaves the island, goes to St. Lucia to be with Fidel and Juliet. No one is surprised when Catherine sells up and joins her. Everyone is shocked when Dwayne quits the force and goes to her. He cries when he tells her that just before he’d faded out, he’d seen Camille through Richard’s eyes and it had changed everything for him. His place is with her now, to keep her safe. They marry and he tries his best to ease her sorrow. There are no more children but, in the night, they seek forgiveness together.

No one who knows the truth is surprised at the baby’s green eyes, serious nature, and keen mind. Dwayne and Fidel nurtured him with deep love in their hearts, guiding his growth into his father's image.

It will be said that Armand Poole Myers has one foot in the shadow world and the other on the path of justice, so fierce and successful will he be at protecting his homeland.

END

**Author's Note:**

> This was my very first DiP story. I absolutely hate it but I had to rip off the scab so I can devote myself to better things. Bummer.


End file.
